


we'll always be

by siehn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s12e01 Coda, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-05
Updated: 2016-11-05
Packaged: 2018-08-29 04:04:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8474662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siehn/pseuds/siehn
Summary: Ep 12.01 Coda - Castiel cannot take his eyes off Dean.





	

**Author's Note:**

> No, I can't believe I'm writing SPN fic in 2016, either. It has Been Awhile.

He can’t seem to take his eyes off Dean. 

It isn’t entirely a new experience; Castiel is well aware that he spends an inordinate amount of time staring at Dean, given what Dean and Sam have had to say on the subject. However, it is one thing to have no time or patience for standard social conventions and another entirely to find himself involuntarily staring at the hunter, the heart in his chest beating faster than it should be, and a clawing fear in his stomach that seems to be trying to convince him that if he looks away for a moment Dean will disappear. 

It is nonsense, he knows; Dean is here, and didn’t die when he went to confront Amara. Castiel can still feel the solid weight of him when he thinks about the hug he had not been able to resist when he’d seen Dean alive, the quiet gruffness of Dean’s voice in his ear. Castiel closes his eyes as he leans his head back against the door frame, Dean’s presence on the other side of the counter bright against his awareness the way it always is; a well-loved star. It is a relief, and Castiel cannot bring himself to stray too far from it, despite needing to head out, to find Sam because he hadn’t meant to lose him in the first place. It was Dean, after all, who had asked him to look after his brother; Castiel will not let him down.

“You gonna stand there staring all night,” Dean asks, pulling Castiel from his thoughts, and he blinks once, head tilting in the way that makes Dean huff and tell him he looks like a bird. Rather than providing an answer, Castiel pushes away from the wall to step carefully around the counter to find Dean staring up at him, fingers resting carefully on the pictures in his lap.   
“Hello Dean,” he says instead of anything else, unable to help the way his eyes linger on Dean’s face. Only hours earlier he’d thought he would never see it again and that had hurt far more than staring into the healed sun or dealing with the aftershocks Lucifer’s presence left on his Grace. Or the fact his Father had nothing to say to him, after everything. 

Dean rolls his eyes and holds up a beer, turning back to the pictures in his lap and something tugs uncomfortably within Castiel’s chest. He is not blind to the feeling; it is not new and the human heart within his chest has always had a tendency to twitch in Dean’s presence. 

Castiel takes the beer and allows Dean’s presence to draw him down to the floor, where he sits at the hunter’s side, pressed close enough to feel the warmth between them. 

“Are you alright,” Castiel asks, because he still does not know what happened with the Darkness and the bomb. Only that his Father disappeared, the world was saved, and Dean is here. He isn’t sure he deserves any of this, much less the easy smile Dean gives him; the small, crooked one that is impossibly fond that Castiel did not think he would see directed at him again.

“Yeah Cas,” Dean tells him, pressing his shoulder against Castiel’s. “Turns out the Darkness was more like us than we thought; she just wanted her brother back.” This, Castiel knows, is something Dean understands well. He looks back over to find Dean watching him, tilts his head in silent question at the hesitation he can see reflecting back to him. 

“He uh, Chuck I mean, said they’re gonna disappear for a while,” Dean tells him, and Castiel sighs, turning to the beer in his hands and taking a long drink of it. He still does not really like the taste, but it is familiar. He does not want to think about his Father, talking to Lucifer while Castiel watched and listened and tried not to yearn for words of his own. It should be enough, he thinks, that his Father brought him back, no matter that it felt more like punishment each time.

“I did not believe He would remain here, should he live,” Castiel admits, a very human sigh escaping before he can hold it back. But it is only Dean here, warm at his side, so Castiel lets go of some of the reserve and leans into the hunter, shoulders dropping. “At least He came back,” he offers, because that is what matters, in the end. His Father returned and Castiel is able to sit with Dean quietly in the Bunker, at least for now. 

Dean snorts his opinion, one eyebrow raising as he glances at Castiel, and his unflattering, uncharitable thoughts are obvious enough that Castiel does not have to skim the surface thoughts of his mind to know them. Much as he tries to be reproachful, something warm spreads through his stomach at Dean’s anger on his behalf, and he smiles despite himself, though it fades soon enough. 

“I would have gone with you,” he says, and watches the tips of Dean’s ears turn pink as the hunter grumbles and steals Castiel’s beer to drain the rest of it so that he doesn’t have to meet Castiel’s eyes. This too, is familiar, but Castiel does not think he can let things go so easily this time, much as Dean would prefer it. 

“Dean—“

“I get it, Cas,” Dean interrupts, his voice tight though Castiel sees no anger in his eyes when Dean lifts them to look at him again. 

Castiel finds he cannot look away. It seems to be becoming a problem, much like the hammering in his chest that is making it difficult to breathe.

“But I think you’ve given enough for me, man,” Dean adds, holding Castiel’s gaze much like he’d done what feels like so long ago now, in a room that didn’t exist, on the cusp of the first Apocalypse. Of course, back then Dean had been asking him to give everything. 

Castiel would still give everything, if it meant Dean could live. He knows better than to say that out loud, though; Dean will only get defensive. He sighs instead, irritated and fond, and reaches over to carefully lift one of the pictures from Dean’s lap instead of arguing. It is faded, old and worn, and Castiel has seen it before: Dean and Sam laughing, happy; light. A time before the Apocalypse, likely Bobby behind the camera, rolling his eyes at the two of them. A conspicuous lack of Mary in the photos; Castiel wonders what it must feel like, for Dean to suddenly have the mother he idolized so much back. He finds himself hoping it feels much better than having his Father back, talking to Lucifer the way He had, and ignoring Castiel.   
The reminder of Sam, though, stings enough that Castiel carefully hands the picture back to Dean and shifts, looking over at Dean. 

“I should go,” he suggests finally, though everything within him protests loudly at the idea of leaving Dean, who looks up at him, brows furrowed. “I would like to follow up on our leads for Sam,” he answers the unasked question, pushing himself up to his feet again. Despite being fully powered, Castiel finds himself tired, can’t help but wonder why something must always be happening to one or both brothers. Dean nods, leaning his head back against the counter with a thud, and Castiel looks down at him. 

Instead of turning to go he reaches out, fingers twitching with hesitation only briefly before he runs them through Dean’s hair, earning himself a startled look and half of an unvoiced protest before Dean gives in and leans into it. It is softer than Castiel expected, and he regards the hunter for a long moment before offering, quietly, “I am glad you are here, Dean.” 

Before Dean can respond, Castiel turns and heads for the door, lets the weight of Dean’s gaze on his back buoy him as he leaves, a curious stinging in his eyes.


End file.
